Salvaging the Enemy
by lanita19
Summary: AU. Parody set in World War I, Orihime is abducted to cure an injured Grimmjow only to find herself in a compromising position. Warning: Lemon.
1. Captive

"He is wounded," Ulquiorra said flatly to the soldier at his side.

Blood slowly soaked through the soldier's dressings. He wouldn't live long if a miracle didn't ensue soon. Unfortunately, their position was far from base, deep in the woods. Why the group strayed, only General Aizen knew. This was how he remained in control of his men, by keeping them ignorant. Now, he and Ulquiorra and Grimmjow were all that remained and a nylon tent was all that protected them on foreign soil.

Grimmjow attempted to fold his arms across his chest but the confines of his bandage were too tight. So he arrogantly stated, "I can see that. But what are we gonna fucking do about it?"

Outside the thin tent, a wolf cried to the full moon. The beast didn't frighten either man half as much as the threat of an enemy attack. They each had a knife and rifle. Their ammunition reserves emptied somewhere along the quest. If they found themselves surrounded, they would surely die. But all three men vowed to go out with a fight.

Aizen writhed momentarily, uncomfortable with the blood loss and the sing of the bullet still buried somewhere in his side. "There was a village not far from her," Ulquiorra began, "I'm sure someone must know of a doctor."

Grimmjow reached for his side knife to cut apart his dressings. He hastily lapped up the dripping blood with the dirty bandage and reached for new material. "I doubt anyone will want to help a man in a German uniform."

Ulquiorra didn't respond to this. He didn't intend to smile and ask for help. He intended to use all of his military training and cunning to get a doctor to help his fellow soldier, whether that person liked it or not. He solemnly pulled a lantern from the floor. Ulquiorra left the tent without as much as a goodbye.

General Aizen had been quiet since the attack on Grimmjow. Retreating from such a sporting fight wasn't in his nature, but in a small way, he felt responsible for the wellbeing of his troupes. He glanced down at his wounded soldier, fighting of the desire to call him pathetic. Grimmjow had been trained much better. Instead he lit another lantern and solemnly stated, "Ulquiorra will bring help. I'm sure of it. Remain calm, it will slow the bleeding."

Grimmjow knew he could sneer and make sarcastic quips at Ulquiorra but not with his commander. He nodded quietly, keeping the 'well that's fucking great' he had poised on his tongue lodged in the back of his throat, which was hard to say the least. At the moment, the reoccurring image of his attacker flashed in his mind over and over: the orange hair, the chocolate eyes, the enemy uniform, and the rifle in his hand that fired that damned bullet.

***

Orihime stoked the fire one last time before retiring to her room in her silk nightgown. It was a dry and cold night, but her wool blankets would be warm against her bare skin. She left the door across her room open as always. Someday, he would be home, and she didn't want his room growing drafty.

She carried a candle with a dying flame to her room at the end of the hall. She missed his voice, his laughter, his smile. She couldn't believe Ichigo had been at war for three months now. She hoped work would distract her, but nothing took her mind off his absence. They weren't lovers, but most of the villagers still frowned upon a young, unmarried woman living with a bachelor like Ichigo and his inconstant moods. Even in the year 1914, European small towns like this were narrow minded. But at least they were safe from the German army.

Orihime pressed her lips to her cross and wrapped it about her neck. With Ichigo gone, she didn't have much protection left on which to depend. She slipped into bed, chanting a silent prayer to her ceiling, requesting a blessing for Ichigo, the villagers, and all the children at the boarding school she nursed at.

She blew out the candle at her bedside and shut her eyes.

In her dreams, it was always the same. She was always on her front porch, knitting a throw blanket, when the soldiers came, carrying his badge with his name. They didn't say a word. They just left her there to mourn.

As she encased herself further in the warmth of her thick blanket, the sound of glass shattering pierced the night. Though her village did not fear a German invasion, she had reason to be frightened. With her only friend at war, Orihime knew better than to underestimate such a terrible force. She was no warrior. She could try to punch and scratch any attacker, but in the end, she knew she would be overcome. So she did the only thing she could think of.

Orihime pulled the cover past her head and remained as still as possible. She wasn't sure if there even was an intruder. It could have been a village kid playing too close to her house. Still, she could not risk herself. She had to stay alive for Ichigo. She had to stay alive for the children at the boarding school. She had to stay alive.

The footsteps leading from the broken glass in the kitchen entered the living room.

***

Ulquiorra treaded softly past the splinters of the window he smashed with the blunt end of his rifle. He crawled in, avoiding the shards, and gazed around the tiny kitchen before heading toward the living room. Ulquiorra wished he could remember a house like that, with hand painted tea cups and white cotton curtains and the smell of baked bread all around, although there was nothing in the oven.

In the living room, a fire roared in tiny wood stove. The furniture was quaint and well kept. By the door, two petite leather slippers sat in an even line by the mat. The shoes and the faint aroma of sweets and floral trinkets told Ulquiorra this house belonged to a woman. But if a woman was here, her keeper, her man, could not be far. Atop the chest behind the sofa was a photo of a soldier near a grand ship. It was black and white and already fading. Had the war raged on that long? It took a moment for Ulquiorra to register the face before him. It was the same soldier who shot his comrade. Maybe frightening his girl was a just revenge. He pulled the photo from the chest and brought it with him as he continued further into the house.

Ulquiorra fallowed the sent to a closed door at the end of the hall. He pressed his ear against the door. There were shoes at the door, there was bound to be an owner. Still, the room was silent…unless she was hiding.

Clever girl.

Without warning, he kicked in the door and yanked the blanket from the bed. The girl gathered herself quickly into a tight ball, gripping tightly to a charm about her neck. How quaint. He began to speak in German at her. She cringed at the sound of his voice. She obviously didn't understand his strange tongue. However, the girl perked at the word _arzt_, the German word for doctor.

She scurried to her closet to retrieve a black leather case. She pointed at the bag then at herself, screaming in broken German, "_Arzt_. _Ich…brauche…einen arzt._" She repeated again in English, "I-I-I'm a nurse."

Ulquiorra decided to speak in a common language to make the transaction go smoother. "This man," he pointed at the photo, "I have seen his eyes and I remember his face. If you do not come with me I sweat my army will have him picked apart piece by piece." Ulquiorra wasn't one to make empty threats, but he was desperate. Luckily, the orange haired soldier was useful leverage.

The young woman gripped her bag tightly and came to her feet. Her head dropped in cowering fear. She wise was not to tempt the German devil before her. Ulquiorra caught his own reflection in her wild grey eyes. He looked so animalistic with his black hair and icy eyes. He towered over her elf-like frame in height, but he was still only lithe muscle. He wasn't as bulky as General Aizen or Grimmjow. The woman could have done some serious damage if she tried hard enough especially since he hadn't had much food in the past week.

He headed for the door, expecting her to be close behind. He paused at the frame when he noticed she was still at the closet with her case. "Well, woman?"

"M-m-may I bring my coat?"

He nodded gruffly. He stopped again, but this time of his own accord. "A handkerchief, give it to me."

The young woman quickly snatched the one she kept in her brazier. It was highly unbecoming to reach in her nightgown in front of a gentleman, but given the circumstances, she figured manners could wait. Ulquiorra pulled the cloth from her hand and brought it to her face. He wasted no time in wrapping around her eyes and leading her out. If Aizen let her live past healing Grimmjow, Ulquiorra couldn't risk her knowing their location, which wasn't far from the village.

***

Orihime couldn't describe what she was thinking when she allowed herself to be the German's victim. All she knew was that if Ichigo's life was on the line, she would risk her own. A part of her wanted to challenge this svelte man in his enemy uniform, but if he had a weapon, she would fail. She guarded herself solely with her fur trimmed coat and cross. The only thing that truly irked her was that she didn't have time to dress. She had heard the cruelest and most grotesque stories of German soldiers snatching up village girls, having their way with them, and leaving them to die naked in the woods. She knew exactly what a starving man would think when he saw her voluptuous form in her thin gown.

Though she could not see a single thing through her black handkerchief, she felt for her buttons with her free hand and made sure they were fastened well past her protruding cleavage. Her other hand was gripped harshly by the intruder's slender fingers. He stopped her at the door, forcing her to put on her slippers and exit with him. She could hear the forest all around her. It wasn't safe to be out at night. Aside from the German beasts, wolves and bears were a constant threat. Every now and again an animal would sneak into the village and the men would hunt it down.

She subconsciously clung tighter to the German as he led her blindly through the woods. It surprised her a little that the man didn't shake her off after the disgusted face he made upon his first arrival. Still, if it wasn't for him, she would have fallen many a time. The woods were full of treacherous roots that grabbed at her tiny feet and pulled her down with gravity's help.

After what seemed like miles, the man stopped. He took a moment to debrief her on the situation, "Inside this tent are men who want nothing more to end your life. But you can help us yet. You want your man to live, yes?"

Orihime nodded and felt a tear gather in her eye. It was one thing to be faced by one German, but many? It finally occurred to her, she was in the belly of the beast. And there was no turning back now.

"Then you will do as we say." He untied the cloth and watched as she adjusted her eyes to the darkness of the woods and flame of his lantern.

"What of me?" she mumbled.

"That's not up to me," he replied.

"Is that you, Ulquiorra?" a man shouted in German through the tent.

Orihime could pick up some of the words but could definitely recognize a name at the end of the sentence. "Ulquiorra, is that your name?"

The dark man leered down at her, still with a disgusted sneer. "What of it?"

"Get in here, Ulquiorra, before I fucking bleed to death," the voice screamed screamed.

Orihime ignored the obvious pain of whoever was behind the tent door and glared at her kidnapper. "I will never forget your name, and you will pay for what you've done."

Ulquiorra brushed past her to open the tent door. Huddled inside were two more Germans: a grandiose man with auburn hair and a wounded man with wild steel blue hair. Her eyes immediately latched on his incredible wound. I'm sure any other woman would be pleased to see his appealing display of muscles, covered only by his bandages and uniform pants. But the nurse inside her only saw a poorly dressed wound in need of dire attention.

Orihime jumped when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She followed it to the face of the bigger of the men. He smiled in a sort of desperate way. It was obvious that he was in no hurry to kill her before she saved his man. "What is your name?" he asked in German.

"She doesn't speak German, sir," Ulquiorra offered.

"Oh that's fucking great, Ulquiorra, you brought us a fucking French whore, didn't you," the wounded man spat.

"Now, now, Grimmjow, we mustn't let our guest think that German soldiers are foul mouthed buffoons." _Too late_, she thought to herself. The man with his hand on her shoulder spoke only in English, a common language between them, from that point on. "What is your name?"

"…Orihime."

"I am General Aizen, the commander of what remains of this troupe. The man behind you is Ulquiorra, and this pathetic mess is Grimmjow. We're in debt to you for the time being. Now, we will excuse you as I'm not a too terribly enraptured by the sight of blood. If you desire anything, Ulquiorra will be just outside."

Orihime knelt down by Grimmjow's side and brought her face closer to the wound. It smelled infected already; she could tell by the rancid smell of blood and puss. "Do you have an alcohol?" she asked quietly. He motioned to his pack without a word. Orihime found a small bottle whiskey at the bottom. It was already half gone. She frowned at the sight of this. She wasn't sure if it would be enough to completely heal his wound. Her warm hands unraveled the soiled clothes and stared at the garish wound. "I have to extract the bullet. This will hurt."

Orihime opened her case and retrieved a plier-like tool. She pushed it through the gaping hole with a gross _squish_. The pair shuttered at the sound. She felt the tip of her pliers hit something hard. From here, she had to pry the handles slowly apart to get a good grip. As she did, Grimmjow screamed in agony. "French whore!" he yelped, slapping her hand away from her work.

She frowned up at him. On a better day, under better circumstances, she would find his chiseled face becoming. She would have reveled at the sight of his rugged jaw line and his piercing blue eyes. But for now, she was scared of his wrath and angered by his insolence. "This would go a lot smoother if you let me work."

"The only work a girl of your nature should be doing in your kneeling position, is wrapping your lips around my-" It was Orihime's turn to do some slapping. She wrenched her hand back and whipped it clear across Grimmjow's face. At this, he gripped her hand and looked her dead in the eye. "If you want to live after this simple game of doctor, I suggest you apologize."

_Only if you apologize to me first_, she thought. But she let her pride dim. She nodded at him and looked back at the wound. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. He let go of her hand, allowing her access again to his wound. With a quick pull, she retrieved the bullet, covered in blood, and blunt at one end. She dropped it on the ground before grabbing the whiskey. "You weren't saving this, were you?" He continued glaring at her work quietly. Grimmjoy didn't want to admit it, but he feared another slap from her tiny hand. They were small, but they stung like hell. Mercilessly, she doused the wound in liquor. Grimmjow cried again and again while she blew light puffs of air over the hole.

With the bullet gone, the wound oozed freely, spouting puddles and puddles of blood. But it didn't intimidate Orihimi in the least. The bullet was gone and antiseptic was on its way to seal it. She knew it was just flushing out bad blood. It made quite a mess and she was out of dressings. Annoyed that these so called _soldiers_ were out so far without any supplies, Orihime removed her jacket and pressed it against the wound. In the corner of her eye, she could clearly see Grimmjow taking small peaks at her body.

Grimmjow couldn't help by noticed what lurked beneath her bulky coat that she was now using as a sponge. The white nightgown clung to her form exquisitely, especially around the more buxom areas of her chest. Grimmjow knew he was no gentleman, and if he wanted her he would have her, without the slightest protest from his fellow soldier or commander. She was the enemy and it was his job to destroy her.

Orihime pulled the jacket away and looked at the now empty wound. Now came the really painful part. Wielding a shiny silver needle and some stitching wire, she attacked the hole quickly. Grimmjow cried out, gripping the tarp on the floor tightly. Orihime did the only thing she could think of, she extending her free hand to the man, the way she would with a child, and said, "Squeeze as hard as you'd like. I don't mind." Without thinking, Grimmjow latched on and viced her tiny hand in his large palm. Admittedly, it did make him feel better. The needle in her hand drew back and forth, poking tiny wounds above his slowly closing injury. "Almost done."

Grimmjow was instantly relieved at this.

The pain was excruciating but he was more annoyed by the intoxicating scent of her. He had been without the company of a woman for months now, and his hunger still raged on. He knew he would have to resist this foreigner, but her sweet smell called to him, that at her feather-like touches. Granted, these touches were no caresses, but after hails of gunfire, he'd take anything. He was beginning to enjoy the warmth of her skin in his palm. Not to mention the perfect view of her chest was a welcome distraction from the piercing of his skin.

"There. I'm done." Orihime rose to her feet and wiped the crimson spots from her hand on her dress. "Don't worry. You don't have to say thanks."

Orihime turned to exit but stopped at the sound of Aizen's voice. "We are going for food. Remain with the girl until our return."

Orihime refused to wait around for their return, upon which she was sure she would be killed. She began to unzip the tent when Grimmjow grabbed her ankle, pulling her to him. "I'm not _that_ incapacitated. I suggest you stay put until the General returns."

Orihime plopped onto the ground at his side, arms folded across her chest and pouting like a child. Grimmjow had strained to grasp her ankle, trying to return to his original position only stretched his stitches further. He grimaced. Orihime noticed him wincing and automatically went into nurse-mode again. It was hard to ignore someone in pain when her basic instinct was to heal. She placed a soothing hand over the stitches and calmly commanded, "Don't move. Your wound is still fresh."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "I _don't_ take orders from a woman." He attempted to rise again, this time straining more. The stitches stretched, slicing into his newly forming scar. When the pain came again, "Place your hand over it again." She raised an eyebrow at him. "…Please," he mumbled reluctantly. "I hope you're not under the impression that if you are an aid to us we'll let you live." She pulled her hand away quickly. "…But it wouldn't hurt your chances."

Orihime placed a tentative hand on his forehead. She could see him struggling with more inner pains than he let on. "You have a fever. How long were you wandering with your injury?"

Grimmjow placed a hand on top of hers to keep her healing hand from moving. "Over a day." She didn't move. He could only assume she was assessing his situation. "Well, woman? How do you intend to make the pain subside?"

"I don't!" she cried. "I have mended your wound, as commanded by your general. You are German scum, and I will no longer be your slave."

Grimmjow continued the fight, trapping her hand the whole time. "Listen, any other woman in Germany would beg to be in your situation. I suggest you act more gracious, seeing as I have let you live this long."

"Well you're not in Germany-" Orihime hitched her words when she noticed a bead of sweat dropping from Grimmjow's temple. "German pig!"

"French whore!" Another drop formed on his forehead

"Evil of the earth!"

"Devil's pet!" Another drop rolled down his chin.

"You're the devil himself!"

Grimmjow let his knife insult next. He slipped the blade out and held it inches from her throat. "Choose your next words carefully."

She looked down at the blade then back at the perspiration building on his face. "I'm only trying to help," she said coldly.

"By insulting me?"

"You can sweat out an infection when no medication is available."

"Sweat?" Only two things could make Grimmjow really sweat: war and women and both were readily available to him. "You want to make me sweat?"

She noted the tone in his voice, feral. "Make _yourself _sweat."

Grimmjow took a moment to consult the angel and the devil on his shoulders. Unfortunately, the haloed one was unavailable, leaving him to seek the confidence of his inner demon. The woman took pity on him when he was in pain, and that was obvious. The second obvious thing was that his infection pained him. And since Grimmjow was all about self satisfaction, he concocted a delicious plan to help ease his pain.

He put on his best acting face and let out a wail of deep agony. "German pig!" she called.

"That's not working anymore!" _That_ hadn't worked the way he had intended. He decided on baiting her slightly. "Heat. Make it hotter in her, woman," he commanded.

Her coat was still blood soaked. Orihime turned to the only resources she had left, her own two hands. With her free hand, she began stroking his shoulder roughly. She pulled the blanket he sat on out from under him and placed it over the two of them. With the coarse, military-issued blanket over the pair, Orihime continued her gestures, discovering his bare chest and arms. As she continued, she couldn't help but feel Grimmjow was getting closer. At first, she assumed it was due to his fever, as if he too longed for heat to heal him. This was until she felt something hard poking her stomach.

This man was truly despicable. But if he would use her to his advantage, surely she could do the same. Her hands ventured lower, avoiding his wound, but stopping short of his slacks. She looked him in the eye with the coldest stare she could muster. "I'll make you sweat yet, German pig." Her tiny fingers latched onto his zipper. Grimmjow's breathes were ragged. "On one condition…you free me."

Grimmjow considered his options. The girl was smarter than she looked. But was one night with a stranger work letting an enemy live. "I'll make you a deal, woman. If by morning I am cured, I will let you live."

"I can't assure that."

"I suppose you'll have to make me sweat hard then." It was a challenge, she wasn't ignorant. But if it meant survival, she didn't care anymore. She already felt like a traitor for stitching him up in the first place. Besides, as soon as she was free, she would have the entire Allied Forces tear apart the forests until the Germans were found. Without another word, she slid the zipper completely down and reached in. "You French girls are quick to cut to the chase. Even Germans enjoy a little foreplay."

She pulled her hand away and rolled her eyes. There was no pleasing this man. She straddled his hips and glared down at him with both fists on her hips. "Alright, _German_, just tell me what you want me to do!"

Grimmjow gripped her tightly by the hips. "You are not to call me by my name. You are not to look me in the eye. You are not to kiss me on the lips."

She pushed off the straps of her nightgown abruptly. "Well then, pig, shall we."


	2. Taken

THIS CHAPTER IS LEMON...(and shorter :P for the critic who prefers long chapters, sorry)

* * *

Orihime was quiet for a long time, looking down at the dipping caverns of his chest and abdomens. Grimmjow grew more impatient by the second. He wasn't used to not being completely ravaged the second he was alone with a woman. Though her quick comments were confident and her hands were on her hips with her chest puffed out, he could hear her fast beating heart and smell her fear. But what did she have to fear? All she had to do was be a body for a one night and she could live long past the end of the war. He cocked his eyebrow at her, "What is it, woman? Where has your fire gone?"

She was scared. She was frightened of the consequences of her rash decision. But mostly, she was embarrassed of what she had become. Ichigo was risking his life to save their country, but she surrendered at the first of danger. Where was her resolve? Her heart dropped, along with all the anger she had gathered to force her through the night. Her eyes pinched together, squeezing out two tears. As she cried silently, she reached for the buttons on the back of her nightgown. Orihime's fingers trembled, trying to undo the hooks.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and pulled her hands away. "You're taking too long." With what felt like talons against her skin, Grimmjow ripped the nightgown down from her chest, exposing the smooth, heaving breasts beneath. He grinned wide while she took deep breaths and continued to cry.

Again, Orihime was still. She had no direction. She had no motivation. She wasn't attracted to this monster. Still, the longer she sat exposed to him in silence and in stillness, the more the tears came. If only he would hurry himself up. She glared down at his piercing eyes through her watery lenses, "You…you can touch me."

Grimmjow's smile grew wider, "I wasn't waiting for your permission. Even a German appreciates a good specimen." He set himself up his elbow, using his other arm to draw her near to him. His kisses were savage and fiery. He smothered her jaw line with burning marks from his warm lips. Her skin was sweet to the taste when he licked small circles on her neck and expanse of skin between her two clavicles. He kissed her on the tip of her chin then looked up at her, "That was a compliment, woman."

Orihime was stunned by the man's skill. She had shared many a chaste kiss with various men on dates, but she had never been taken over completely by a sea of another's passion. His voice was barely audible. All her focus was on the sensations she felt on every nerve as his kisses traveled lower. Orihime whispered a raspy, "…Thank you." The words spilled from her mouth like incoherent drabble. The last remains of her defense, the part of her that wanted to hate his touch, surrendered completely when his lips found sanctuary pressed against the bare skin of her breasts.

Grimmjow savored the intricate flavor of her skin. He suckled and nipped at her, trying to extract more of her sweetness. The gruff stubble of his chin raked against her ribs while he carried on his attack of her chest. He repositioned himself to use his hands to his full advantage. The slid up and down her flat stomach while his mouth continued. It irked him somewhere in the back of his mind that her hands had yet to move from the rigid stance they started from. "I'm not infected, woman, you can touch me."

Orihime shyly reached for his chest, feeling his muscles tense at her touch. Grimmjow pried himself away momentarily to guide her hands about his body, stroking his chest, his stomach, his arms, his hips, and his navel. His skin was surprisingly smooth though it was firm and taught. He left go of her hands if only to see where she would explore on her own. Orihime hadn't noticed; her fingers traveled like wayward ghosts acting upon their own confused desire. They slipped over the hem of his slacks that were still unzipped and begging for attention. She coyly pushed down the fabric. She would not look.

"Pretend I'm whoever you have to, but I won't be made to wait," he growled.

She pulled her hands away to return them to her hips; how he hated this stance. It was getting old fast. "You'll take what you want inevitably," she murmured. But it was a mistake to prompt him further. He hadn't realized his own caution until now. It wasn't as if he respected her or anything. In a swift motion, Grimmjow had turned the tables and came upon her like a jaguar, pinning her to the ground by the arms and between his legs. Pinning her arms above her with one hand and using the other to slip her completely out of her dress, he winced when his stitches begged to be left to rest. Orihime leered up at him, sincerity in her grey eyes, "You mustn't strain your wound."

"Distract me then."

She managed to slip out one of her tiny hands and pass it over the stitches. Grimmjow's pain was instantly relieved. If he could find a way to mass-produce her soft touches, the German army would never need another doctor. While she had the opportunity, Orihime's fragile hand ventured south shyly to the exposed flesh she refused to peak at. She squeezed her eyes tightly and took his advice. She grazed lightly over the hard length of flesh, pretending it was anything other than it was.

A cool shiver traveled along Grimmjow's spine. Such innocent motions gave him a quivering delight he couldn't comprehend. He let out a quiet by guttural moan. A mini bead of sweat finally surfaced on his temple. Through the tinniest squint of her eyelid, Orihime saw the sweat. She concentrated her focus onto his brow and let her sliding hand pass over him once more. With an odd mixture of chagrin and excitement, she found a rhythm to her gentle strokes. Grimmjow was struggling to keep his weight off her, so he forfeited some of it, bending his head down to suck on the nape of her neck. Through the sweat and passion, she tasted even sweeter.

The more she stroked, the more Grimmjow realized this virgin shadowplay wouldn't hold him over. He longed to be inside her. His eyes would loll back into his skull momentarily, but he managed to catch an eyeful of the body beneath him. He licked his lips hungrily at the sight of her magnificent form pleasuring him. Her porcelain skin accented her radiant hair that draped about her shoulders. The voluptuous curve of her chest fit so nicely atop the round angles of her hips, covered by her white cotton panties.

Those had to go.

Orihime was pushing Grimmjow to his brink, causing him to moan things the logical portion of his brain had no intention of admitting, "You're beautiful."

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice and she caught an eyeful of his exposure. In its erect state, his manhood intimidated her. This would be her first night with a man, if she could call him that, and it wouldn't come without pain. Grimmjow slid his reluctant lover's undergarment low and positioned himself. With her hand free of him, Orihime brought it to her face to cover her tears.

_Pretend I'm whoever you have to_…

The only face that came to mind was Ichigo's. She tried to imagine him taking her on the carpet in front of their tiny woodstove. She imagined him whispering sweet things in her ear, calming her nerves before he thrust forcefully into her walls. She imagined her capturing his lips with her own, squelching the already dying pain.

"I told you not to kiss me on the lips," Grimmjow groaned breathlessly while he pumped inside her. "But if it'll keep you from crying…" Orihime did not wait another second. She pounced back onto his lips. He parted them happily to let his tongue escape into her awaiting mouth and their bodies began to meld into a smooth rhythm. His tongue coiled around hers while their hips grinded together.

Orihime suddenly felt a strange fire at the pit of her stomach that grew as he came in and out of her. The inferno elicited a quiet moan from her and smiled into her lips. Grimmjow too was nearing his climax. He pulled her forcefully against him for his final entrance then shook with a grunt as they both flooded in ecstasy. Orihime bellowed a fierce scream and the flames shrunk to smoldering embers in an instant.

Grimmjow withdrew, covered in his own perspiration and tasting of hers. He glanced at her with a devilish grin, "That was good, but if I so much as sneeze tomorrow I'll have you shot behind the woodshed like a rabid dog."


	3. Deceptions

"Well, well, she looks like she had a _rough_ night," the guest said with a terrible grin. Orihime was curled in a tight ball on the floor with Grimmjow's blanket covering her. Her hair was tousled and disheveled. Her fists clutched the blanket as if she were fighting a nightmare.

Grimmjow returned the grin before taking a sip of the coffee he had been offered only moments before. "What took you so long to find us, Gin?"

"Your little red-headed friend who gave you that nice little scratch had us on the run for about thirty miles in the wrong direction." Gin was much lankier than Grimmjow with fewer muscles and less rugged features. Still the curve of his jaw made his beaming grin all the more terrifying. He leaned down to where Orihime slept and tugged at the top of her blanket, desperate for a peak. A merciless grip tightened around his slender wrist. Gin followed the hand that held him to Grimmjow's scowling face. "Oh, so it's alright for you to take a stroll down foreign soil, but she's off limits for me? I thought she was _just a French girl_." Grimmjow released his grip instantly. "Scared me for a second." Gin had his way much to Grimmjow's well concealed chagrin. He felt almost like a stray dog, he had marked the tree and he didn't want any other mutt sniffing around it. But Gin got his eyeful regardless. "You certainly take the pick of the crop."

"You'd be desperate too if you were near death and lost in enemy grounds."

Gin was still studying the pale curves of Orihime's already chilling body when he responded, "I don't know if I'd need to be desperate to take this one for a spin. So what to do with her now?"

Grimmjow shrugged, but also wondered if she were cold. He thought for a quick moment about fetching another blanket. Then he realized who he was, who she was, and the matters at hand. "I'll keep my end of the deal. I feel much better. However, what's the point of letting her live if Germany's just gonna take this town anyway."

Gin dropped the blanket and Orihime rolled over a bit. Grimmjow didn't want her to stir. He hadn't quite concocted the right words to tell her she would be allowed to live on his terms. He still hadn't caught up with his General. "I know what you're thinking and I've already spoke to the General. We're bringing her with us."

"What?!"

"What are you complaining? You get to have your cake and eat it. Unless, that is, your disinterested in filling up." Gin loomed about the sleeping girl like the dead haunting the living. He was smart enough to wait for Grimmjow to give him the word to have the girl. She was still Grimmjow's object after all. "Aizen thinks it would be wise to have a doctor with us until we made it back to camp."

"Then what?"

"So concerned, Grimmy." Gin began petting Orihime's silky hair, ravishing the feeling of each strand between his fingers. "She will have the option to join us willingly or die kicking and screaming. She'll really be quite fortunate, working for the world's most powerful army. That is, if she can put up with Nnoitora for that long. I'm sure he'll be quite happy to have this one around."

Before Grimmjow could protest, Aizen entered the cramped tent carrying a small uniform. He tossed it to Orihime's still snoozing feet. "No one will touch her. We want her as an ally, not as a plaything. That's why I'm putting Ulquiorra in charge of the girl. That's for her," he said, motioning to the uniform. "Wake her – _gently _ – and have her dress – _in privacy_. As for you, Grimmjow, your little night of debauchery shall be your last."

"But, sir-"

Aizen put up his hand to shush his subordinate. "I'm not stupid, Grimmjow. Remember we want her to be our ally. I will send Ulquiorra to bring her to me and we will leave. Gin, you're needed by the auto." Gin nodded and exited. Aizen knelt down before Orihime and peaked under the blanket as his soldier had done before. Again, Grimmjow had to fight off a primal urge to smack him away. Aizen laughed a little to himself. "Don't think less of me, Grimmjow, I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. See you out front."

And then Grimmjow was alone with his prey from the previous night. _Wake her up gently_? he questioned. Gentle wasn't really his nature. He shook her frozen ankle until she recoiled her tiny feet back into the blanket. He then moved to shaking her arm. Again, Orihime pulled tighter into the blankets warmth. Grimmjow again questioned the logic behind waking her up _gently_. The last _gentle_ awakening he had seen was in play long ago; Snow White as he recalled. Grimmjow inhaled deeply and placed a chaste kiss on the girl's lips, partially hidden beneath strands of wild orange hair. And like magic, her eyes slowly fluttered open.

At first, Orhime was still in a dream. She dreamt Ichigo had finally made love to her, and here he was awakening her after their night of romance. But the wonderful illusion faded, and her lover slowly faded into the face of her hated enemy. Shoving him away callously, Orihime wrapped the blanket about her and headed for the exit. Grimmjow threw the idea _gentle_ out, seeing the girl's attempt escape, and pulled her down by her ankle. She fell to the floor with a muffled _oomph_. He shoved the uniform in her face, "Put this on before you head out or what we did last night will seem like child's play after those boys are done with you."

"Glad to see your well," she muttered with venom. "I am no longer your slave."

"Not mine _personally_, but the German Army has business with you. Follow orders or dig your grave."

"Aren't you going to call me a French whore?"

"Would you like me to?" he asked jokingly. "Just get dressed. If you run, we will catch you and we will burn down your town."

"I'm sure you're going to have me believe it is a privilege to help out your battalion?"

Grimmjow came to her with a fleeting anger. He pressed his forehead to hers and let his words float above her nose to be inhaled like poison air, "Everything you do concerning me is a privilege. Be gracious and you'll live much longer. And if it is any consolation, you're no longer under my watch. You're under Ulquiorra's care now. Lucky for you, he doesn't find you all that attractive."

Grimmjow zipped the tent behind him and joined up with the men who waited by the two autos. In a few lightning steps, Nnoitora was at his side offering question after question. "What's she like? How plump is she? How long did it take her to get off?"

Grimmjow brushed him off like a spider on his shoulder before saluting Aizen. "She'll be ready in a few short moments, sir. She didn't receive the news too well but she knows she has no choice."

Aizen shook his head, "Now that's no way to treat a guest." Aizen gave his men the signal to remain behind and he went after the girl. As he approached the, Orihime exited wearing the German uniform. She quickly backed back into the tent when she saw Aizen's ominous presence. "Now, now, there's no need to be afraid of me. I am, after all, the one who spared your life."

"And that's _all_ you spared," Orihime quipped.

Aizen found himself amused by her quick tongue. Her sarcasm would be welcome company after the months spent traveling with men whose only conversation consisted of bullets and women. "Had I known Grimmjow's intentions, I can guarantee I wouldn't have left you alone last night. However, I have entrusted my best man with your well-being until we make it back to Germany. Then, you're free to go."

"What strings are attached to this deal?"

"If you can survive the unholy trail back to Germany, watching your countrymen be slaughtered by the dozens as you mend the wounds of your greatest enemy, you deserve to be commemorated in the greatest halls of your country." Aizen's words were elegant and intimidating. Orihime felt like a child before his grandiose display of civility before her. But his words came with the pang of truth. It would be a hard journey, but his speech reassured her that if she followed him loyally she would be safe. "Now, my dear, if you'll just follow Ulquiorra, we'll have you put up in my auto and we'll be on our way."

Ulquiorra offered a nod towards a canvas covered truck and that was it. The other men who joined the Aizen and his stray men came with trucks for cargo that would get them back to Germany much quicker than by foot. The only threat came at the French border where the Allied forces were waiting. Ulqiorra brushed off the thought of any opposition, knowing full well that Aizen had a plan, and helped the woman into the back of the truck. Ulquiorra then opened up the driver's side door and got in. They pair waited for Aizen to join them. Ulquiorra pointed his rear view mirror at the girl in case she should try anything heroic.

Aizen tapped on the hood of the truck, signaling his man to start the engine, then called out, "I think I'll keep our friend company. There's a town near the French border. We'll rest in the forest to the west before crossing at night. We should only be a few hours off course. Call for me when we get there."

Ulquiorra nodded and watch the General disappear. Orihime was already planning her escape. She knew exactly which town Aizen spoke of, and it wouldn't be hard to sneak in and send for help. Besides, if they were heading toward the Allied forces, someone might know Ichigo.

Her hope faded when Aizen took a seat across from her. "I know what you're thinking, and I wouldn't. The forces at the border are depleting because they're looking for us." They sat quietly as the truck took off, both studying each other like they were watching birds in the park. Orihime was constantly taken back by his aura. His face was so charming and mature, like he could be a father. His skin seemed to be soft and inviting, and it confused her. Should she trust him in her moments of fright, or would he use it against her? Again, he read her thoughts like an open book. "I will never harm you while you are under my care. You are more valuable than you realize."

Orihime had to look away from his penetrating eyes. She felt exposed, more exposed than she had felt with Grimmjow the night before. "I don't do well with war. I'm afraid I won't be much help with the real fighting starts," she admitted nervously.

Aizen also found her terror amusing. So long had he spent with men who all thought they were invincible until they met the bullet. She was so human. He opened his arms to her and said, "Come." Shy, Orihime bit her lip until she thought it might bleed. She caught her reflection in Ulquiorra's mirror, and then caught his gaze staring back at her. Surly the General wouldn't try anything dishonorable with his man watching diligently. For a sick moment, she trusted Aizen's words and crawled across the bed of the truck into his welcoming arms. Aizen instantly wrapped her up and pulled her close. "You'll feel safer this way."

The truck behind followed at a close distance with Grimmjow at the wheel and Nnoitora at his side. Grimmjow glared vehemently at the display before him. He could only imagine what lies Aizen filled her with to get her to fall into him like a lost child. Grimmjow was torn between respect and hatred for his commander. He knew Aizen was a master of deception and the poor girl had been chosen as his next prey.

Nnoitora all but giggled at the obvious disgust on his driver's face. "Don't worry, Grimmy, I'm sure Aizen won't get her dirty."

"Don't be a fool. I'm more worried she'll get him dirty. She is, after all, just French trash."

"But worthy enough for you to poke about."

Grimmjow could not pry his eyes from the pair in the truck in front of him. But he still met Nnoitora's verbal abuse with his own attacks, "I will not be treated like an enemy for doing what would have come natural to all of you."

"Well, if it's only natural then I'm sure you won't mind if I let my instincts run wild when we stop."

Grimmjow had to swallow every ounce of his pride to reply. "Sure. Be my guest."

Back in Aizen's truck, Orihime was slowly falling victim to his hospitality. He whispered words of reassurance in her ears and stroked her hair gently. She tried to imagine, as hard as she could, that she was with Ichigo again. "Tell me, Orihime, won't they be missing you while you are with us."

Orihime had his face etched in her mind; Ichigo was inescapable as she sat in Aizen's warm clutch. "He's out to war. I do miss him…I hope he misses me too."

As Grimmjow knew, Aizen had been gathering Orihime's trust to his advantage and was now looking for the perfect moment to gain leverage over her. He had to have her allegiance. He had to have _her_. It wasn't a game of sexual domination; it was for the simple fact that his soldiers were only good if they were depraved. If he could hold her above their heads like a prize of honor, he would gain their strength and loyalty. "He'll be disappointed when he finds what Grimmjow has taken from you."

Orihime knew exactly to what he referred. It still stung her pride to know she had given her virginity to such a vile creature. But the anger just faded into a dim sadness, not just because her innocence was gone, but because she had been saving it for a boy who didn't even know it had been waiting for him. "Oh…He and I…we weren't…_involved_."

"But you'd like to be. Hmm…it's written all over your face." Orihime blushed wildly at this. "He must be very lucky." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grimmjow scowling viciously at their image. It was then he hated a deliciously evil idea. "I think poor Grimmjow is getting a little jealous. He misses your company." Aizen said this with a chuckle.

Orihime felt a little insulted that he would bring up that wretched man when they were having such a quaint time discussing Ichigo. "If it's the last thing I ever do, I will see that man hanged."

"Now, now, you just need to know how to get under his skin a little. You see, to him, you are an object, one that he has claimed as his own. But I am the captain and whatever is his belongs, inevitably to me." Orihime repositioned herself to look Aizen in the eyes. His eyes were intense as they seemed to stare through her to Grimmjow. "He's sulking. You should take some happiness in knowing the man is upset."

"_Hanged_," she reiterated.

"Maybe. But for now why don't you see if you could just get him riled up." She didn't quite understand his intentions until he began combing his fingers through her hair. Aizen slowly tilted his head until his lips were comfortable across from hers. "It's easier if you pretend I'm someone else. Say his name, then I'll kiss you, and then we'll watch Grimmjow seethe."

Orihime could only nod, caught in Aizen's spellbinding trance. "Ichigo…" she whispered.

Before she could catch the image of her orange-haired obsession, Aizen's lips were upon her. It was the second time she had been kissed that day, only this one was much more seductive. Butterflies danced around her head causing a whirl of mixed emotion. She wanted to play along for the fun of hurting Grimmjow's pride, but she didn't want to betray her love to Ichigo anymore than she already had. She lingered on his lips before parting hers slowly.

It was then Aizen knew he had won her over. He slid his tongue over her bottom lip but went no further before breaking the kiss.

Orihime whizzed her around to catch a glimpse of Grimmjow with profanities poised on his tongue while Aizen leaned into the window of the truck's cabin. Ulquiorra leaned in so his leader could whisper in his ear. "When we make it to the border," Aizen began, "have Gin go ahead and find me a French soldier named Ichigo."


	4. Confusion

Orhime awoke in a tent, wrapped in a coarse blanket. At the other end of the tent, in front of the door, Ulquiorra waited, watching her diligently with his arms folded across his chest. Orihime stretched and yawned. She hadn't remembered falling asleep, nor had she remembered the truck stopping. She did remember, however, the romance theatre she had put on with Aizen to mock Grimmjow. She pressed her fingers to her lips, the lips of a betrayer. What would Ichigo think if he saw her in a German uniform kissing a German general, even if it was an act? Ulquiorra blinked at her strange sudden reaction.

Orihime, now aware of her watchman, shivered in the cold air and asked, "Where are we?"

Ulquiorra's face didn't even break, "We're exactly where we're supposed to be, woman."

Orihime stood to exit. Once again, Ulquiorra did not move. "Excuse me, I…have to use the restroom."

Ulquiorra gripped her wrist tightly before unzipping the tent. He pushed her out with a gruff shove. Outside, nighttime had set in and the men, with the exception of Gin and Grimmjow, were gathered about the fire. All the men shot glances at Orihime, studying her with wild bemusement. Aizen stood and it silenced the chatter that had begun to grow with his subordinates. "Miss Orihime, I'm sorry, we didn't wish to wake you."

"I have to use the bathroom," she said sternly. She could be soft spoken with Aizen, but not in front of the likes of Grimmjow. She had to remain strong.

The men snickered like school children. Aizen's eyes showed pity for the young girl. He noticed Ulquiorra still held a firm grasp on her arm. "Ulquiorra, take her to the woods and allow her some privacy." Ulquiorra nodded and before he pulled her into the darkness of the woods, Aizen stepped in to whisper in her ear, "I wouldn't think to run away. This is a dangerous place to be alone." The words dripped with a sort of fatherly caution but also a treacherous threat. Certain words hung in the air: dangerous…alone. She was surrounded by these things, and yet, Aizen's warning turned off her logic and she obeyed only him.

Ulquiorra dragged her silently into the nearby woods. Eventually, Orihime shook loose of his grip and carried on by herself. "I don't want you watching," she called to him.

"Believe me, woman, I have no interest in you. Just remember, I can hear every step you make, you won't wander far if you try." Ulquiorra turned his back to wear Orihime had sauntered off to, not wanting to disrupt her. The quicker she could get her business done the quicker he could return to the camp.

Orihime settled into a spot and began to fiddle with the silver clasps of her foreign uniform. The black around her made it difficult to navigate her fingers. As she struggled with the buttons, a cold hand slapped down on her lips. Her eyes shot wide. She had already sided with the enemy, who else could want to kill her? Her fear subsided when beneath the stench of blood and gun powder she smelled something familiar. "If you scream, I will cut your throat, German bitch," a voice whispered hoarsely in French.

The hand slipped from her face, but the knife against her back remained. Without words, she turned and wrapped her hands around the stranger. She ignored the knife jabbing at her abdomen. All that matter was she was safe. "Ichigo," she whispered.

The stranger dropped his knife and felt victim to her embrace, gathering her up into his dirty arms and torn uniform. He snuggled into the crook of her neck then smelled her sweet scent. How he missed Orihime's warmth: her warm embrace, her warm personality. He refused to let her go. The pair spoke freely in French as quietly as possible. Orihime knew Ulquiorra would not show mercy if he found a French soldier. "Orihime, what's happened?"

"I've been taken. Oh Ichigo, please…take me with you," she cried. She dropped her head in his chest. Sobbing, she couldn't control the noises that escaped her.

"I'm on the run. I was followed by two men. I won't let them keep you. If you can make it to the border, I'll tell my men to take you back." He squeezed her one last time. "Please, Orihime, just make it to the border." He disappeared. The branches beneath his feet barely gave away his position.

"Woman…have you finished?" Orihime peered around the bushes, double checking she was alone before going about her feminine business. She appeared later, refastening the belt about her uniform. To Ulquiorra, she was decent enough. He regained his lock about her slim wrist and dragged her back to the camp.

The men back at the base were in a frenzy over the return of Grimmjow and Gin. Gin, grinning as usual and unharmed, served as a post for Grimmjow to lean against as his side leaked with fresh blood. Though Ichigo was fresh on her mind, Orihime broke loose of Ulquiorra's grip to inspect her handy work. By now, Grimmjow was comfortable with Orihime as a doctor. Her stitching had held up just fine until he had a run in with a familiar oranged hair boy. Luckily, Grimmjow escaped with what he needed from the man, a silver dog tag with the name: Ichigo Kurasaki etched in the metal. Now, he needed Orihime to fix him again.

"Bring him to the tent and fetch my things, I'll take care of this," Orihime stated after carefully studying the open wound.

Nnoitora chimed in with a terrible joke, "Maybe when you're done I can have you inspect me?"

Grimmjow wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or the debt of gratitude he owed the woman, but he felt an urge to step in. "Nnoitora, if you so much as breathe on her I'll extract the other dirty weapon you have below your belt." Nnoitora only scoffed. "Well," he said down to Orihime, "let's get on with this."

Gin handed the still bleeding Grimmjow to the woman while Ulquiorra handed her, her medicine bag. She gently led her enemy into his tent and then closed the door behind her. Grimmjow removed his soiled uniform top then settled on the floor, eyes gazing at the lantern dangling from the tent post. "You need to be more careful," she whispered. She was genuine as usual, a trait that confused Grimmjow.

She was already dousing the hole with alcohol. He instantly reached for her hand to squeeze as before. "You'll need to make these stitches stick. I'll have my revenge. I haven't forgotten his face and now I've got his name." Orihime allowed his spiteful monologue because she knew it would distract him as she began to pull out the old stitching. "…Ichigo Kuraski…"

Orihime stopped dead. Before she could restrain herself, she plunged a finger into his wound and twisted, "Don't touch him!"

Though he winced in pain, Grimmjow laughed at her futile attempt to harm him. Grimmjow snatched her hand away from his side. The blood trickling down her finger only deepened his hate for the Frenchman who scarred him to begin with. "You should have seen him, caught off guard fondling some dark haired thing in a bar at the border. Gin and I had him on the run for miles." Orihime looked away. "What's wrong, something I said?" his tone was sardonic as usual. He stopped laughing to himself when he saw a tear dangling from her eye. "You're really upset, aren't you?"

"You don't understand…he's my only reason for fighting…all this." She had to concentrate on the new stitching to keep any more tears from falling.

Grimmjow bored quickly with this Orihime. He much preferred the angered temptress Orihime. He tried to restore some strength to her, "You…you were much prettier than she was."

Orihime laughed a little at this. It was out of character for him to toss her a compliment. "Thank you…I know you don't like saying things like that…but thank you." Once her minstrations were finished, she blew on the sealed wound a little. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I suppose."

"What should I do?" Grimmjow caught his tongue for once. "Where do I go from here? I can't stay with you…you're the enemy. But I can't go back after…what I've done for you. How could a man fighting for his country love a woman who is salvaging the enemy?"

Grimmjow quickly turned the subject. "What got you and General Aizen so close?"

Orihime blushed and smiled. She could be so lighthearted when she wanted to be. This trait and her anger intrigued Grimmjow. "We wanted to…make you jealous." She giggled slightly.

"You're full of it," he scowled. "Besides, if the time came, I wouldn't keep you from Aizen. He's my general."

"Does that mean that you believe I belong to you?"

Grimmjow continually choked on his words. How had she continued to outsmart him? Before he could tell her not to be foolish, he found other words, "Don't trust Aizen."

"He is your general, don't _you_ trust him?"

Grimmjow began buttoning a fresh uniform over his torso. His actions told Orihime it was time to go, and she was fine with that. Their time together felt so brief but she knew it had been a while since she joined him. "I respect him as a military leader, but he's a liar and a relentless one at that."

"Oh Miss Orihime!" a voice called from outside the tent.

She was readied by the zipper with her case in hand. She wryly smiled at Grimmjow as he hunkered down into his covers. She couldn't look him in the eye when she asked, "Can I trust you, Grimmjow?"

He mumbled something incoherent and Orihime left. Outside, a fire was blazing in the bit and the smell of alcohol hung in the air. Across the flames, Gin was perched comfortably on a stump, grinning as usual. As she tried to make out the things he was whispering, two pairs of hands grabbed Orihime from behind. Nnoitora seemed to slink like a snake from out of the flames.

"Orihime, these are my friends, Loly and Menoly. I found them at a quaint pub near the border and they have just been dying for a good time." His face, pressed against her ear, reeked of liquor.

Out of the corner of her eyes she could make out the faces of her attackers. They were young, too young. The one to Orihime's left with her nails digging into her bag had two bunches ponytails on either end of her head. The front of her dress was open and Orihime could see more than she wanted. The other girl had a boycut hair style and was blonde. She held Orihime's wrists together behind her. Nnoitora pulled a knife from his pocket and carefully etched into Orihime's uniform. The girls giggled and shouted vehement German things Orihime couldn't grasp.

In no time, Nnoitora had cut away completely the front of the woman's shirt. Then he dispatched it into the open flames. "Oh no, Orihime," the dark haired girl began, "you look like a complete whore. Maybe you should get your shirt." The girls threw Orihime, defenseless, toward the fire.

Her face was hot up against the flames, but luckily it never touched. However, it meant Nnoitora had grabbed her just in time. Nnoitora wrapped himself around her from behind, licking at her neck like a savage dog. "Hmm, you truly are a French delicacy, my dear. I can see why Grimmjow took a liking to you." Nnoitora continued. "Girls, I can't really get to those lips. Do you mind tending to her while I steal a few kisses?" The German girls were happy to oblige. They each grabbed an arm and lunged her at Nnoitora.

"Help me!" Orihime called. Unfortunately, her first instinct caused her to scream in French. It incited no desired response. Orihime closed her eyes and tried to imagine a happier place. Nnoitora placed his grimy hands atop Orihime's exposed chest. Orihime closed her eyes so tightly she thought her eyeballs might burst. She had to imagine it was anyone else pressing their rough lips to her crying mouth, and the first face that came to mind was… "Grimmjow!" she squealed.

Gin, who had been watching contently all the while, stood to exit, "You'd better quit before Grimmjow shows up, he won't be happy." Gin left with the warning still hanging in the air.

Nnoitora ignored the warning. He didn't even stop when Loly and Menoly were screaming; charred from the fire they had been pushed into.

Nnoitora was a different case. Grimmjow ripped Nnoitora off of Orihime and pulled him up by the neck. He squeezed without any thoughts of letting go; he just kept squeezing. When Orihime protested, Grimmjow glared down at her and commanded, "Go get dressed. I'll take care of you later."


	5. Protector

HAHA! Thank you GothicChick5255! I normally catch spelling errors. It's fixed now. You can obviously see what was on my mind. Ha!

Orihime wasn't sure how things finished between Grimmjow and Nnoitora. She didn't want to know. She barely managed to block out the never ceasing screaming of Nnoitora. Eventually night set in and she was asleep. Things had been quiet for hours, but the whispering of two men brought Orihime back into consciousness. She sat up on her bedding and searched in darkness to find where the voices were coming from. She could just make out Aizen and Grimmjow.

"You almost killed your own man, and for what, Grimmjow?"

"He had no business touching her. You said it yourself, she's a guest."

Orihime scooted closer to the side of her tent where the voices were the loudest.

"Grimmjow, where do your allegiances lay?"

"With the German army, of course."

"But you'd kill your own man over a _French_ woman? If you fall in love with her, I'll kill her. Then we'll see who you are truly loyal to."

One set of footsteps walked past the tent and out of earshot, the other approached the door. "Are you awake?"

It was Grimmjow. He carried with him a dimming lantern, but Orihime could see a strange sadness in his eyes. She wanted to touch his face and make sure it was still his. She hadn't seen him be anything less than angry. She couldn't even bring herself to answer him with her voice, she just nodded.

"Get up and follow me."

Orihime slowly came to her feet. Without a second thought, she slipped her hand into Grimmjow's and allowed him to lead her out of the tent and toward the forest. The fire had been put out; the men were asleep. "Where are you taking me?" she whispered.

"The French are setting up a mile out of this camp. They will come to attack within the hour, I can feel it. I'll take you as far as I can, from there, follow the trail until you reach their camp." His voice was stern and unwavering, yet his hand trembled in her grip.

Their pace turned into a brisk run. Orihime could barely keep up with Grimmjow. "Why are you doing this?"

The question was simple enough and surly Grimmjow had his reasons, but he couldn't voice them to her. He could only stop running. For the first time since they had met, he looked her in the eye with complete sincerity. He watched with curiosity as she formed a slight smile. He wasn't sure if it was because she would be returning to her home soon or if it was because she would finally be rid of him.

"I don't know why you're doing this…but thank you."

Orihime stood on the tip of her toes to bring her lips closer to his. It was a strange feeling, this need to kiss an enemy who had held her captive for so long. Maybe it was all just a matter of Stockholm syndrome. But somehow, Orihime found herself desperately wanting to give him a goodbye kiss.

Grimmjow spoke before their lips could meet. "Don't," he said. "If you don't stop…I don't know if I can."

Still, Orihime could not contain herself. She kissed Grimmjow then, a kiss that she had been saving for a man she truly loved, a kiss she told herself was for Ichigo. But now it was for Grimmjow. Not just because he had saved her and not because he was letting her go, but because they were kindred spirits now. She had been a captive and so was Grimmjow, forced to fight a war under a man that would kill his love just to earn respect. Now she was free. Could he ever be free of her in return?

Kissing Grimmjow with all her passion, lips parted, tongue probing, and hands roaming, she didn't even mind that only a few nights ago he had been repulsion personified. Grimmjow stopped balling his fists and instead used his arms to wrap about her in a tight embrace. Then he broke away from her. "Please," he began, "just go. Get the hell out of here."

Orihime was breathless and wanting to be with him for just a few more seconds. But his command was solid. She saw in the distance the tracings of a footpath. Grimmjow nodded toward it and she understood.

"When we meet again, we're enemies," he shouted to where she was already disappearing.

Orihime stumbled along in the dark, trying hard to concentrate on the slim clearing that created a path. The forest seemed to close around her as she walked. Her clothes smelled of Grimmjow, something between gun powder and sweat. It would have disgusted her before. But now she understood. His smell was one of pride and struggle. And now she wore him proudly. If she had to, she would beg the French to spare him.

Orihime wondered what would happen if Grimmjow met with Ichigo. Whose life would she beg for? She had known Ichigo to be a good man and she loved him immensely. But Grimmjow had etched a soft spot in Orihime's heart that she didn't even know she was capable of having. She wondered, also, how she had allowed herself to become so attached to an enemy.

Before long, the winding trail stopped, overlooking a camp site where men were obviously preparing for battle. If she stormed in wearing a German uniform, she was sure she would not be received well. She thought for a second about ripping off the patches, but this was Grimmjow's uniform, probably the last thing she would have of his, and she couldn't imagine destroying or defacing it in any way. So, without further hesitation, she slipped down the hill toward the camp.

It wasn't hard to locate Ichigo. His vibrant hair could be seen bobbing along the night sky with the fire shadowing his pale face. Orihime shot across the camp toward him. The men immediately swarmed after her with their hands on their guns and knives. When Ichigo saw her, he put up a calm hand to steady his men. "She's an ally," he told them in French. "Get back to work." The men obeyed without question, but Orihime could hear traces of their whispers. Ichigo eyed the area that Orihime appeared from to look for any other German uniforms. "Were you followed?"

_I'm alright, Ichigo, I wasn't wounded or raped or emotionally abused_, she thought to herself. She knew it wasn't the right time to be snarky or sarcastic, but it was hard not to when she had just been on death row for days. "No…he let me go."

Something had changed and it was obvious to Ichigo. The last time they met, Ichigo was quick to embrace her and comfort her. Now he was distant. Was the war more important than Orihime or was it something else…someone else. "He? He who?"

"A friend," Orihime replied.

"Come with me, I have a friend I want you to meet." He pulled Orihime along to a truck that was being loaded with ammunition. "Rukia," he called to a dark haired girl. The woman turned around and Orihime was stunned; the woman was gorgeous. She was slender with dark eyes, and what's more, a French uniform with more badges than Ichigo. "Orihime, this is my general, Rukia Kuchiki."

Orihime smiled as warmly as she could at the woman who had won her first loves complete admiration. "H-h-hello," Orihime stuttered.

"Ichigo tells me you were being kept with the Germans. You must know their weaknesses." Rukia's voice was determined; the way Orihime would like hers to be.

"I'm sorry. I was blindfolded most of the time," she lied. "Is there some place I can sit down, I've had a long night."

"Surly, Miss Orihime, you must have some information after being inside with the Germans." Rukia's persistence was terrorizing. The more she mentioned the Germans, the more Orihime was reminded of Grimmjow and his decision to free her.

"I know nothing," she lied again. "They weren't quick to divulge their secrets to a foreigner."

"Then why'd they let you go? You said a friend let you out." Now Ichigo was hounding her. "What happened while you were there, Orihime?"

"_Nothing_ happened! Now, I know my home isn't on the way for your march, but I am a trained physician and would be happy to help in any way. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. However, if it concerns the location or the operations of the Germans, I don't know a thing."

Ichigo's face was stunned. This was not the Orihime he expected to be greeted by. This was not the Orihime that worshipped at his alter. But he would not call her a traitor. She was simply…_confused_. As for Rukia, she was skeptic to allow a woman in a German uniform into her camp. She was a woman who kept her enemies closer when she could. "Renji, do you have a moment?" At Rukia's call, a tattooed gentleman appeared and saluted. He was tall and muscular with a strong expression. "Renji, would you mind taking our guest to my tent. She can stay with me. Orihime, if you'd like, you may barrow one of my uniforms."

Renji saluted again and then took Orihime with him. He too had the distinct smell of gunpowder and sweat. Granted, Renji's sweat was a completely different variety from Grimmjow's. The way he walked was similar as well, as if there were a gun on his shoulder even though he was in safe zone. "It must be strange having a woman for a commanding officer," she offered, trying to make conversation.

Renji shot a narrowed glance toward the girl behind him. "She's the best."

"You must really respect her…you must really trust her."

Renji presented Orihime with a large black canvas tent that was big enough for four. "I…_follow_ her." He looked over to where Rukia stood close to Ichigo. His face was struggling with an emotion Orihime had felt before. She wanted to reach out to her brethren in pain.

She didn't quite know how to voice it, but she knew she had to say something to the man. She crawled into tent and sat on the four legged cot. It was a welcome home compared to the pile of blankets on the lumpy ground. "The Germans…they're not so different, you know. They obey because they have to." Renji didn't say anything. "Rukia and Ichigo seem close." Renji eyes rolled at the sound of Ichigo's name.

"They're in charge of the attack on the German camp tonight-"

"I want to go," she interrupted.

"To protect your friend, Ichigo?"

Orihime folded her arms across her chest, pouting slightly. "He has Rukia for that."

Renji caught sight of her jealousy quickly. He had been in the same position only a day before. It was no secret around the camp that the two had been quite close since the planning of the raid on the German camp and it didn't help the rumors any that Ichigo had been spotted sharing a kiss with the General at the border. "You're being petty. A good soldier protects those they love at all cost. Even if that person has no idea of the situation."


	6. Survivor

The trucks were on the move. Orihime could hear them from the tent where she had been trying to sleep for the past few hours. Renji's wisdom echoed in her brain like a wild thunder. Orihime knew she would have to find a way back to the camp and protect Grimmjow. But she also knew that she would have to put aside any jealousy and protect Ichigo from Grimmjow if she could. If only they could see that they were no different from one another. They were just two men following orders and protecting their country.

Orihime didn't bother changing from her German uniform. She hoped, in a small way, that the bravery of the man who wore it before her would rub off on her. She would have to find a way to board the truck undetected until they made it out to the German camp, which wouldn't be long. The only problem arose when she exited the tent to find that the trucks were already on their way.

It would be impossible to catch up with them and there were no trucks left behind for her to commandeer. Her only option was to take the footpath back to the camp. She knew her running pace would nowhere near match that of a truck, but if she could just see Grimmjow one last time, she was sure she could stop him, even if he said they would be enemies now. She just wouldn't believe it.

Her feet had wings for the moments that followed. The path's turns and twists were second nature to her and the small foot holes that once grabbed at her seemed to bow down to her force. As the forest grew lighter, the smell of war came upon her. The gunpowder, the blood, the dirt. But it was silent, and she knew the war was far from over. Whatever skirmish had occurred, Orihime feared it had ended before her arrival.

The camp had been demolished. The tents and the trucks were laid to waste or burning when she entered.

"They took the fight to the boarder," a voice told her worried ears. Orihime noticed a familiar gentleman perched on log overlooking something. "I was told not to leave until every German at this camp was dead."

"Renji?" Orihime confirmed.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder. "This one's holding on. Ichigo should have finished what he started, but Rukia needed assistance at the frontline."

The last German? She imagined such terrible things at first: Gin's devilish grin torn away from his face, Nnoitora's vile tongue cut out, or Ulquiorra's cold shoulder pulled from its socket. Most of all, she wanted to see General Aizen bleeding his last drop with Grimmjow's knife solid in his neck. Instead, one at a time, two fiercely blue eyes opened to stare up at her.

Orihime dropped to her knees at the sight of Grimmjow set in a pool of his own blood, a bullet wound in his chest, and something silver in his grip. She recognized the object quickly, Ichigo's dog tag. She reached out to tend to the wound, but Grimmjow seized her trembling hand. "Don't…" he pleaded in his strong voice.

"Please, let me help," she responded.

"He's finished. I don't know how he didn't die sooner," Renji told her.

"Please, go back and fetch my medical bag. We can still save him!"

Renji cocked a skeptic eyebrow at her. "Are you crazy? He's a German. He said he was gonna kill Ichigo. This is one less German for us to wipe out later."

"He's a _person_ and he doesn't deserve to die," she explained. Renji's expression didn't fade. "Then leave us! Go out to the boarder and fight your war…but leave us." Renji passed a hand through his hair. He nodded at her then headed off, leaving Orihime cradling the remains of the dying Grimmjow.

Orihime pressed her head to his chest to hear every desperate heart beat. As his struggling heart urgently pumped blood, her tears pooled and dropped onto his soiled shirt. She was whispering prayers until a knife pressed firmly against her neck. "I told you we were enemies."

She was not afraid. She wrapped her hand around the blade and pressed it further. "Do it," she commanded him.

"You're stronger now," he noticed.

"I got some good advice."

Grimmjow lowered his blade and grinned. "That red-headed asshole got some good hits in." The last thing Orihime wanted to hear was anything about Ichigo, not when the man she loved was dying at his hand. "Don't hate him. He loves you." She was confused and it showed. "Not like I do," he said lifting her chin to him.

"He told you that?"

"I got some good punches in. I had him by the throat…" Grimmjow coughed, spitting some blood into to Orihime's hair. She didn't mind. "I asked him…_what are you fighting for_? And he said that he had to protect you and the village."

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner to stop him."

"Ha! You think that red-headed wimp did this? Aizen shot me for letting that punk go." His breaths were coming in ragged. They both knew he was not long for this world. "I don't get how I'm not dead yet…but I guess I should be grateful…I thought…I'd never see you again." Every pause in his sentence was painful.

"Don't say things like that. German pigs like you…they always pull through."

Grimmjow laughed with strength he didn't know he had. They were both smiling through the tears and blood. Grimmjow hadn't been happy since the war started. He could have never imagined this would be his last laugh. "French whore," he choked out. "Do me a favor, would ya?" She nodded against his chest. "Pretend we're somewhere else."

She could see it so clearly. And when she spoke, for a moment, they were both there. "It's Spring and we've just escaped the rain. You have to leave your boots at the door. You build a fire and I make tea."

Grimmjow couldn't help but laugh again. "We could never be like that."

"You said _pretend_. Now, where was I. Ah yes, the fire. I have a fur carpet near the wood stove and we're drinking peppermint tea. And your stitches are gone and there's barely a scar."

"I want the scar."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, there's a scar. And we're joking about how silly the war was and how glad we are that it's over. And we talk until the tea is cold and the fire is dead. And then I fall asleep in my wet clothes. So, you pick me up because you're so strong and you take me to my bedroom."

"I like where…this was going." His voice was barely a whisper now.

Though the beating in his chest was almost at a glacial speed now, she continued. "And you put me in my bed. And you pull the blankets up to my chin so I don't get sick."

"How…did…you…get out of those wet clothes?"

Orihime nestled closer to his chest and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back confirming he was still alive though his heart beat tried to convince her otherwise. "You helped me into my night dressings, of course. Then you sat at the foot of my bed to make sure the sun came up."

Then it happened.

The thumping stopped.

The pumping stopped.

The beating stopped.

The grip loosened.

The breathing stopped.

* * *

Orihime waited at the end of the lane with a collection of children who carried with them the French flag. Renji was at the wheel of new black truck that the army had purchased for all the surviving members of Rukia's troupe after their victory at the boarder against the Germans. The war had been over for a year and it was Spring. The children couldn't wait to see the war heroes off. Rukia, Ichigo, and Renji would all be receiving medals of honor at the capital.

Ichigo hugged Orihime tightly, "Are you sure you don't want to come? It would mean a lot to me if you were there."

Orihime shook her head. It was too soon to celebrate. "It looks like it's going to rain, I'm going to get all the kids back in before it does. It's still a school day after all."

Rukia followed Ichigo and hugged Orihime too. In the year that followed the war, the two women had become close friends. Orihime had come to terms with Rukia's strong façade, which had faded with the war. Rukia was a young woman at heart though she was a soldier in battle. Orihime respected her greatly and didn't mind that she had Ichigo's heart. It was in good hands. "We'll be back by the end of the week. Maybe by then the rain will let up," Rukia offered.

Orihime smiled at this. The rain had been on and off all season long. The only thing that pushed her through the rainy season was the thought that soon it would be over and the flowers would begin to bloom. "It'll stop. It has to." The children crowded around Ichigo and Rukia. They hugged their legs and accepted pats on the head. "Wait, before you go. You'll need this to go along with your uniform." Orihime reached in her pocket and retrieved the silver trinket she had been saving since she last saw _him_.

Ichigo bowed his head and gladly accepted his dog tag. He hadn't thought about it in quite some time. He wondered if maybe he dropped it somewhere at a camp years ago. He would have never imagined that she would have it. "Thanks Orihime. We'll be back before you know it."

They all waved off the group. Just as predicted, the rain set in as they departed. The children squirmed to fit under Orihime's big polka dot umbrella. She escorted all of them back to the school. Before leaving them, she handed the tallest of the group her umbrella and asked him to lead the kids inside. Orihime grabbed her bag then walked back to her house under the blanket of rain.

Orihime couldn't hate the rain. It was cleansing. Maybe if it rained enough it could wash away, completely, all the blood stained ground left behind the war. Maybe it would wash away the blood and tears. Maybe it could wash away _him_.

She entered her house, pausing at the door to leave her rain boots, and shook out her wet hair. Her house was lonely with Ichigo gone. He and Rukia wanted their own space and she understood. To keep from missing his company, she replaced Ichigo's pictures with drawings the kids had made for her. Their reassuring innocence kept her alive after the war. There were certain pieces, though, that she couldn't seem to let go. The newspaper confirming that a German general by the name of Aizen had been captured and put to his dead was still sitting next to a pair of eye glasses at her coffee table in the living room. The patch from her uniform that read Grimmjow was…supposed to be on her mantle.

"Curious," she told herself. She could have sworn she put it back after she dusted off the mantle the night before. Orihime fingered the spot where it should have been.

She didn't linger on it for too long. She smelled something coming from the kitchen. Orihime felt like a stranger in her own house. Though the changes were slight, they baffled her. She snuck into the kitchen quietly. On the stove was a kettle, near screaming temperatures. Nearby were two cups with peppermint leaves in them and boiling water on top. She picked up one of the cups to make sure it was really peppermint tea that had been waiting on the counter.

She closed her eyes tightly.

She wasn't sure if she was pretending like she had for so many nights after.

She wasn't sure if this was real.

So she kept her eyes closed and asked her quiet house, "Did it leave a scar?"

"It left a nightmarish scar," the house answered. "Would you like to see it?"

Orihime dropped the cup in a flash, ignoring the shattering, and fled to her bedroom. It was empty. But on her mattress was a dry night dress.

She closed her eyes again.

It was real as long as she kept her eyes closed.

Ghost hands were upon her, helping her pull her blouse over her head.

"I'm sorry I forgot the fire," the house told her.

She reminded herself to keep her eyes shut as she was helped out of the rest of her clothes and into her night gown.

"You should get into bed before you catch a cold."

It had to be an illusion. It wasn't his style to be so caring.

But she couldn't open her eyes.

"Don't open your eyes," the voice told her.

"I know."

"Just sleep. I'll make sure the sun comes up."

"I know," she said again.

Orihime slipped into bed. Instantly, the sheets crawled up her body and up to her neck. She snuggled into the warmth of her bed. At the foot of her bed, a weight shifted the mattress.

She had to open her eyes. If she opened them and he was gone, then it was the sweetest dream she'd ever had. But what if…?

She slowly opened one eye. His back was to her, there, at the corner of her bed, watching the window, watching the rain, protecting her.


End file.
